


Just You And I

by Walkinrobe



Series: So Dramatic [21]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 06:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18959965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walkinrobe/pseuds/Walkinrobe
Summary: November 2017What do athletes want more than anything 12 weeks out from the Olympics?Not be pregnant.Most definitely, not to be pregnant.





	Just You And I

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the great pre-Olympic pregnancy scare of 2017.
> 
> Thanks for all the kind words about the last Part. Seems everyone was on board with giving Meryl the big ‘fuck you’. She’s probably lovely in real life but she will continue to be a skanky bitch in this AU. I feel like we should run into her again. 
> 
> Thanks also for the suggestions of where else we could go in this little universe. Keep ‘em coming!

Olympic-centric. Is that a word?  


If not, it should be.

It’s the only way to describe his and Tess’ lives at the moment. Everything they do is in pursuit of that one goal. Olympic gold. Actually, Olympic gold x 2, if you count the team event. They want that team medal too, so shit yeah, it counts. 

Despite their wishy-washy public rhetoric, this is definitely their last Olympic games. The Olympic team hasn’t yet been announced but they’re part of the Skate Canada national team and barring a catastrophic injury, they’re all but guaranteed a place in the Olympic squad. There’s even murmurings of them carrying the flag in the opening ceremony. He’ll be the first to admit, that sounds fucking fantastic to him. Him and his girl leading their teammates into the stadium together? Yes, please. That’s an athlete’s wet dream. 

They’ve spoken about this final Olympics a lot over the past six months. With JF, with Patch and Marie, with Skate Canada, with their families. But mostly with each other, knitting together their post-Pyeongchang life and what it means for them professionally and personally. Those conversations happen late at night, woven around each other in bed, exhausted after training, which is still kicking their backsides even though they’re about halfway through the 2017/2018 season and heading towards peak skating fitness.

And so far, so good. They’re undefeated since they began their comeback. That’s not to say they’re unbeatable but they’re skating has been strong. It’s feels good. They feel confident. Their main rivals are Gabi and Gui, or ‘those French assholes’ as Tess likes to refer to them behind their backs. There’s is such a savage competitor hidden behind Tess’ beautiful, glossy facade. And he finds it sexy as fuck.

Just over a year into their non-platonic relationship they’ve fallen into a comfortable, settled existence. It’s charmingly domestic. If this is a small glimpse of their long term future then he’s ready to sign up. Right now. He’s happy as a pig in mud. 

They’re primarily living in her flat in Montreal, using his flat as a place for their family to stay when visiting. Tess does the planning and manages the logistical side of their lives and he does the operational work (code for cooking and fixing shit). It means they’re living completely in each other’s pockets. And not sick of each other yet. It works out wonderfully 90% of the time, with 10% devoted to eye-rolling and snarky comments. That is until one of them breaks the tension with a depreciating or sarcastic remark, before they partake in furious atonement sex. 

Ah, the sex. It is still Formula One standard fucking. The frequency and intensity has not abated in a year. Undoubtedly, they’re both using it as a stress relief mechanism but underpinning it is a deep, instinctive physical attraction to one another. The way she touches him. Just amazing. The trust she places in how he’ll treat her body and the way she makes him laugh - he never knew that kind of sex even existed until they started sleeping together. 

Although, slowly, slowly the sex has been changing. Still physically fantastic but with added emotional ferocity. He knows she loves him, she tells him all the time, but more and more there is an honest earnestness, an emotional potentness that has crept into their fucking. And he loves it. He’s a heart on his sleeve kinda guy, so it’s right up his alley.

All in all, life it’s pretty tippity-top at the moment. 

Until they encounter a little blip.

*

She wakes feeling warm and safe in Scott’s arms the morning after winning the NHK Trophy in Osaka. 

She’s emotionally and physically exhausted. Yesterday they’d foregone showers at the rink and hightailed it back to their hotel after the medal presentation in pursuit of longer, more relaxing showers. She’s a fan big of showering without worrying about whose manky feet have stood in the shower before her. They’d attended the Gala Dinner, left early and come back to their room, ordered room service and fallen asleep watching a movie. She’d woken to find the TV still on about 3am, hit the OFF button on the remote and buried herself into Scott’s side. He pulled her close and gave her a sleepy kiss before mumbling that he loved her.

Unsurprisingly, Scott’s already awake, his arms still around her while he watches muted vision of their free dance performance on CBC’s YouTube channel.

‘Hey,’ he says softly, ‘my girl’s finally awake. Morning to you, Virtch’. He turns his head to gently kiss her hair. 

She loves him. So much. So, so much.

‘You’re not wasting any time,’ she observes, twisting in his arms to get a better look at the iPad.

‘Yeah, I know we smoked Madi and Zach, but there’s something about the backhalf of our Free that isn’t doing it for me. Maybe it’s the way we’ve edited the music? Our arms are a bit dirty in the first half, we gotta clean that up’ he analyses.

She nods in agreement. He’s such a competent combination of choreographer and technician. 

Scott continues, ‘I’ll be interested to see how we go at the GPF against Gabi and Gui. If we don’t beat them convincingly I think the backhalf is definitely going to need a major overhaul. That’s the weaker part of the program. What do you think?’

‘I think that I don’t wanna lose to those French assholes’ she says definitively, untangling herself from his embrace and getting out of bed. She’s still tired but they’ve got a plane to catch. She starts stripping off her camisole and sleep shorts.

He puts his iPad on the bedside table and places his hands behind his head, all while carefully watching her undress.

She knows what he’s up to, his next move will be his hand heading south, snaking into his pants. 

‘What time is our airport transfer?’ he asks, and there it is, he moves one of his hands from behind his head to inside his boxers.

‘10am, we’ve gotta leave in 30 mins’, she tells him. ‘Breakfast at the airport, yeah?’

He nods and removes his cock from his boxers, suggestively raising his eyebrows while he strokes his morning wood. 

Motherfucker. 

She’s very tempted. The thought of sinking down onto his cock and him filling her cunt makes her tummy bubble with arousal. 

Is there enough time? Just for something quick? 

She mentally tallies all the tasks she’s gotta do in the next half hour. 

Not really. 

They gotta get going. Fuck.

‘Sorry, my love, it’s self-service orgasms only this morning,’ she leans down to kiss his mouth, ‘I’m grabbing a quick shower and washing my hair before I finish packing’. 

He pouts and runs his hand over her naked ass, around to her hip then up her stomach to palm her breast.

‘Raincheck? she offers, taking his hand from her breast and licking it for him.

He snorts. 

‘I’ll take the self-service option and the raincheck’ he smirks as his hand starts moving along his cock in long, slow strokes. 

‘Good plan’ she laughs in return. ‘Enjoy!’ she winks, disappearing into the bathroom. 

*

‘Hey, I’m gonna order some groceries and get them delivered at the same time we’re due home. You got any requests?’ he nudges her shoulder. 

He wants to get back home and into their usual routine as quickly as they can. The more he’s been thinking about it, the more he’s certain they have work to do on their Free. That means submitting this grocery order before they get on their plane.

They’re in the Air Canada lounge waiting for their flight from Narita to Montreal, sitting at a table next to a large window overlooking the distant runway, plates of scrambled eggs and bacon between them. He’s also got his laptop propped open in front of them, logged into their online grocery account. It’s a picture of domesticity.

‘I’m so tired I can’t even think straight. Can you bring up the standard list and we’ll run through it, maybe just delete what we don’t need?’ Tess suggests.

‘Sure thing,’ he concurs. 

He’s struck by how it’s all very mundane, running through the items. That’s until they get to the Health and Beauty category.

Toilet paper. 

Toothpaste

Tampons.

‘Tampons? Nope, an unopened packet is in my bag. What’s next?’ Tess says offhandedly.

‘You sure?’ he asks.

‘Definitely. Check the last purchase date. I think they were in the most recent delivery, which was about two weeks ago, yeah?’

‘It says last purchase date is 10 October, today’s 13 November, so that’s about five weeks ago’ he confirms with a gnawing concern.

She straightens in her chair.

A nauseous feeling immediately settles deep in his stomach.

They turn and lock eyes.

Shit. What? Tess hasn’t had her period in over five weeks?

‘Oh, fuck’ she whispers.

*

It was JF who coined the phrase ‘forced menstral intimacy’ during a mental prep session aimed at identifying weaknesses in their partnership. The intent of the session was to unpack what makes them embarrassed around each other.

Spoiler alert: the answer is nothing.

She didn’t get her period until she was almost sixteen, which is not terribly surprising for an athlete. It happened on one of their umpteen drives between London and Canton. They’d stopped to get coffee at Tims and by chance she’d taken the opportunity to use the bathroom. And there it was. Her period.

To her immense relief the bathroom wall had one of those sanitary napkin/tampon dispenser thingies. She had no money on her, so she had to ask Scott for some change. 

But he was being typical late-teen-douchebag Scott and demanded to know why she was raiding his car ashtray for money. He wouldn’t let it go so in the end she just blurted it out.

*

‘I’ve got my period. I need to buy something from the dispenser in the ladies’ restroom’ she sighs, completely avoiding eye contact with him.

‘But don’t you, like, know when it’s coming and have stuff with you in anticipation?’ he whines, being an absolute turd.

‘This is first time’ she confesses as she raises her eyes to meet his gaze.

‘Oh shit’, is all he says in response. 

He lifts the entire ashtray out of its slot and shoves it to her, clearly not wanting to engage in this discussion or participate any more than necessary in the problem solving effort.

She takes a couple of dollars and roughly passes him back the ashtray.

‘I’ll be back as soon as I can. Ugh, and you’re a dick, Scott,’ she huffs and storms off.

When she gets back to the car he still doesn’t look at her.

‘Fuck’s sake Scott, can you literally man-up? You’re not gonna catch it?’ she spits.

‘Ugh, it’s just icky and weird, Tess’ he whines.

‘It’s not weird, it’s life. Your mother would throw a fit if she knew you were being such a douchebag. Did you see me carrying on and making you feel like a sack of shit for popping boners every now and again’ she demands.

That got his attention. 

‘You noticed?’ he winces.

‘Oh my God, of course I noticed. I just didn’t carry-on like Judgy McJudgison ’ she huffs. ‘Can you just try and be a grown up about me having my period. It’s gonna happen every four weeks and we’re going be skating together for the next ten years. So, this is the first of 130 times you need to deal with it. Please just get with the program and go with the flow’.

She smirks.

They look at each other and chuckle.

‘Go with the flow, eh? Fun-ny Virtch’ he sighs. 

She gives him a look that tells him she’s serious and that she needs him to stop being a loser about this.

His eyes tells her that he gets it - he won’t be a tool.

‘OK, I promise not to be an arsehole about your uterus shedding it’s lining each month’.

‘You’re ridiculous. But thank you. This is big for me, yeah? My mom isn’t here. I’m all by myself’ she says quietly. 

‘You’re not all by yourself, Tessie,’ he says as he reaches over to take her hand and gently kiss her cheek. 

‘I’m here’.

*

And so continued her diplomatic ignorance of his erections and his slow acclimatisation to the joys of womanhood.

By their twenties he knew which weeks to hold her a little more gently around the chest, offered to put her tampons in his coat jacket and knew her signal for ‘check the back of my dress please’ whenever she had her period in a light coloured costume. 

In fact, it was such a comfortable topic between them it made quite the controversy when she joked about how many periods were left until Sochi in their reality TV series. He feigned embarrassment at her comment and she was pissed. They had some terse words in the car park after filming about how he made her look like a lunatic by not playing along with the joke.

*

Back in the Air Canada lounge they continue to stare at each other in terror.

‘I’m trying to think of a smart-arse comment to take the tension out of this moment but my brain has literally stopped working’ he offers, panic stricken.

Tess just looks at him, huge green eyes and open mouth, she nods in agreement. 

His knows her cycle is like clockwork. 28 days. He can’t recall one time since 2005 it’s been late. This isn’t good. 

Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

‘I just assumed you had your period now?’ he hisses.

‘No, why’d you think that?’ she snarks.

He takes a breath. Fighting is not gonna help. He consciously softens his tone. 

‘We haven’t had sex for four days, this morning you told me that my only orgasm option was self service. I thought that was the reason,’ he placates.

‘Oh, I was worried about your back, you’ve been complaining about it the past few days. This morning I just genuinely wanted to wash my hair’.

They look at each other and laugh. High pitched, nervous laughter which could also be described a misguided, manic attempt at making light of this situation in the hope it’ll go away.

He puts down the laptop and places his hand on her thigh. He smiles what he hopes is a confident, comfort-giving smile.

‘You’re face isn’t fooling me Moir, I know you’re just as shit-scared as I am,’ she says returning his smile. Ha! She should talk, her smile is a strained, slightly crazed version of her normal smile.

‘OK, so we’ve identified that we’re sharing the fear. Bonding against the common enemy and all that’, he squeezes her leg. ‘Let’s go back to first principles and do some old-fashioned trouble shooting, eh?’

‘OK, yep, great, holy fuck. I’m good with that. Fire away,’ Tess babbles.

He agrees with her on the ‘holy fuck’ sentiment. Three months out from the Olympics - a pregnant Tess will not be helpful. A pregnant Tess would be disastrous. Their competitive edge significantly eroded, if not vanquished. 

‘Why the fuck have we been solely relying on the pill as a form of contraception? We should have been using the pill, an IUD, two condoms, the withdrawal method and spermicide’ he offers.

‘And there’s the tension breaking smart-arse comment’ she congratulates.

‘Thank you. Alright, let’s figure out exactly when you last got your period, then we can see how late you are and decide how worried we should be, eh?’ he suggests.

‘I think the adrenaline spike has turned my brain to mush. I don’t know, I don’t know when my last period was. You usually know this stuff too. Please help me,’ she squawks.

‘It’s OK Sweetheart, we’re both in panic mode, let’s just go by the process of elimination. Use our competitions as placemarkers’. 

He is pretty fucking impressed with the way he sounds right now - calm and measured - because in actual fact he is FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

He quickly brings her to his chest and wraps his arms around her, kissing the top of her head, trying to ground them. He hopes the pounding of his chest doesn’t give him away.

‘OK, it wasn’t the Autumn Classic, I remember we had that amazing sex in the shower back home after the Gala Dinner,’ she recalls with a sly wink.

He loves that they’re on the precipice of disaster and Tess can still appreciate great sex. She’s a keeper.

The Autumn Classic had been held in Montreal. Despite their current crisis situation his dick twitches at the memory.

He had been in the shower, trying to loosen up his post-performance shoulder muscles and replaying the short dance in his mind, when Tess wordlessly slipped through the door. 

She put her finger to his lips to indicate no talking, then gracefully sunk to her knees. She took his limp cock into her mouth and looked up at him. It was the cliche - her big, green eyes visible through her eyelashes. She’d sucked, licked and stroked. 

Over and over. 

He had his hands rested on the shower wall while he hung his head and watched her work. By the end he was so hard in her mouth he had to slowly breathe out his nose to control himself. 

She’d taken his hands from the wall and moved them to the back of her head, inviting him to fuck into her mouth harder. 

It was the first time he’d firmly held her head while he’d driven himself into her mouth. His control of her head, the hard weight of his cock in her soft mouth, juxtaposed with the noiselessness, was filthy, almost vulgar. In a very good way. 

She’d pushed him right to the edge, until he almost came, before she silently stood up and hoisted one leg around his hip. She’d nodded to him and he’d eased inside her. 

They’d fucked in silence, just looking at each other, no kissing or talking. Slow, purposeful, intense thrusting. His hands pressed hard against her ass. Her arms entwined around his neck while she rocked against him.

With a quiet gasp they’d come. 

He’d never felt so connected to anyone during sex.

Finally, once he slid out of her, she’d bestowed a delicate kiss to his cheek before disappearing from the shower. 

Not one word was exchanged.

It was erotic as fuck.

Afterwards he climbed into bed and said to her ‘Holy shit Tess, that was amazing’.

She’d just given him a little smile and said ‘You’re welcome, my love’.

*

‘On my God, are you thinking about the shower sex?’ she demands, breaking Scott’s reverie. 

He gives a guilty grimace. She’s not surprised in the slightest. Scott and his own dick - they’re besties. She rolls her eyes.

‘Focus, Moir. A life changing clusterfuck is looming on the horizon. I’ve regained my mental faculties,’ she reports. ‘My last period started on...’

‘October 5’ he chimes in. ‘Yes, when my folks came to stay. I just remembered’.

She sees him counting the days in his head.

‘That’s about 42 days, so you’re two weeks late. Fuck, Tess. That’s never happened before,’ he whimpers. ‘This isn’t a stellar situation we find ourselves in. This warrants serious panic and emergency pregnancy test purchasing, eh?’

‘No shit, Sherlock’. 

Her eyes suddenly burn with unfallen tears. 

Their flight is called. Boarding will begin immediately.

‘Add a box of pregnancy tests to the groceries’ she orders. 

*

By the time they gather their carry-on baggage and have quietly made the long walk to their gate the consequences of an unplanned pregnancy have hit him like a ton of bricks. 

This isn’t just about modifying programs. This likely means they can’t compete at the Olympics. His legs feel like he’s walking through mud.

As they stand at the back of the boarding queue he turns to find silent tears running down Tess’ cheeks.

She knows it too. Oh, Tess.

‘Motherfucking shitballs. What am I going to do if I’m having a baby?’ she leans against him and whispers in his ear.

He drops his bags. Instinct taking over, despite being in a public place. He’s concerned and, if being honest, also a little mad. Why is she saying ‘I’? She really thinks this is only her problem? Does the past year mean nothing? Huh? 

He puts that aside, she’s stressed, he’s stressed. It’s a self preservation response on her behalf. This is not the time to be a whiny douchebag.

‘Hey, hey’ he cradles her face and wipes her tears with his thumbs before softly kissing her mouth.

‘You’re my girl, right?’

‘Absolutely’ she responds.

‘This is about us, Sweetheart. It wouldn’t be that you’re having a baby, it’d be that we’d be having a baby. Together. We will deal with all of this. Together’.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Madi and Zach standing to the side. Zach is desperately searching through his bag looking for something, but Madi is looking directly at him. 

There’s no doubt that Madi just saw him kiss Tess. A very unplatonic kiss. He couldn’t give a fuck. His number one priority is his girl right now.

‘OK, OK,’ she sniffs ‘I know that. I’m feeling scared and overwhelmed’ she confesses.

He feigns shock.

‘You mean you’re not using an unplanned pregnancy as a sick and twisted way of trapping me into a long term relationship, denying other women from the pleasure of my company?’ he whispers.

‘Pffft. That’s way too much effort’ she whispers back ‘I’ve started a whole lot of rumours that you’re shit in bed and you gave me gonorrhoea instead. Nobody will touch you with a ten foot pole’.

At this they both burst out laughing and he wraps her up in his arms. 

‘I love you, Tess Jane’ he affirms.

And anyone else who comes along, even if the timing is fucking heartbreaking, he thinks.

*

They shuffle forward and finally get onto the plane. There’s a problem with the seat allocation. Turns out that she’s sitting next to Madi and Scott is a couple of rows back on the other side of the plane.

Of all the fucking times to be separated. She feels tired and sad. She just wants her person. Motherfucker.

The business class seats on this plane are old-school. Instead of staggered pods they’re seats next to each other with a sliding privacy screen.

Scott helps put her carry-on into the bin above her head before running his hand down her arm and squeezing her hand. He gives her a wink before nodding to his seat, letting her know he won’t be far away.

She gives a weak smile and squeezes his hand back.

She settles into her seat, keeping open the privacy screen between her and Madi. She desperately wants to close it but that’d seem weird.

As the plane taxis to the runway she makes a mental note of all the people they’ll disappoint if they can’t make the Olympics. It’s a long and scary list. People have invested time and money in their skating. Lots of money. 

By the time the plane is climbing through the air she can’t control the tears, they fall in fat splashes on her cheeks, running down her face as she tries to wipe them on her sleeve.

‘Oh Tess,’ soothes Madi, ‘are you OK? What’s wrong? Everything alright?’ Madi grabs her hand.

She doesn’t dare open her mouth, petrified that loud sobs will break free and unrestrained words will tumble from within her. 

So she just nods. 

Madi pats her hand and when the seatbelt sign is finally extinguished Madi quickly excuses herself.

Scott appears and climbs into the seat next to her, clearly Madi had fetched him and they’ve swapped seats. Madi’s a sweetheart, she really likes Madi. She’s fierce and observant and smart. Plus Madi doesn’t put up with Zach’s shit.

She turns to Scott. The hum of the plane and the clatter of the lunch service giving her confidence that they won’t be overheard. 

She takes his hand and brings it to her lips. She’s wishes they weren’t in this situation right now. She doesn’t want all the hard work of the past two years to turn to shit. They’d be letting down so many people. 

‘I’ve made a mental list of all the people that are going to be really pissed off if we can’t compete at our best, or can’t compete at all,’ she frowns. ‘It’s a terrifying list and I want to vomit just thinking it’.

‘Yep,’ is all Scott says in response. 

She turns to face him. 

‘Scott, I want that gold medal. Really want it. And I know you do too’, she rubs her thumb over his knuckles as she looks into his eyes. ‘The timing is horrendous. But we just have to roll with it, I guess. Let’s get home, take the tests and go from there’. 

She looks to him and gives a watery smile. 

She opens her mouth to speak again but the cabin steward suddenly arrives with their lunch. Go away, go away, go away, she chants in her head. He fusses for a few minutes, setting up their tray tables, offering a multitudinous array of bread rolls and arranging their cutlery, before finally cottoning on that he’s interrupting something significant and scurrying away.

She tries again.

‘So I s’pose the bottom line is we do the tests and either way 2018 will be a big year for us. The Olympics or a baby or maybe both, depending what we can pull off,’ she sighs. 

That’s what it comes down to, doesn’t it?

Scott sucks in a sharp breath.

Her head spins.

What? Why is he reacting like this? Does that mean he’s surprised that she’d want to have the baby? Wouldn’t he want the baby? Of course it’s shitful timing, they’ve established that. But that he mightn’t want the baby wasn’t even on her radar as a possibility.

She bows her head to gather her thoughts before she asks him what’s going on. They need to unpack this. Immediately. 

But her face must have already given her away because he surges towards her and tips her chin so she’s looking directly in his eyes.

‘Unless you don’t...’ she starts.

‘I do. Jesus, of course I do’ he rushes. ‘You really thought I wouldn’t want to have the baby? Fuck me, Tess’.

He’s hurt. She understands why. She wants to make it better. She needs him with her right now. This isn’t a time for misunderstandings.

‘No, no. I thought you’d want the baby but your reaction threw me’ she confesses.

‘Sweetheart, there’s no question,’ he smiles. ‘I would. This is us. Hearing you say it all that out loud, it was big. That’s all’. 

He’s right, this is life changing stuff. He kisses her cheek. She knows it’s a small kiss that is meant to convey a mountain of love and support. 

‘I want the gold too,’ he breathes, ‘but if we’ve made a baby together, I want us to have that baby. We already have the medals. But a little person that is half you and half me, that’s, just ‘wow’’. He smiles again, it’s full of comfort and promise. It’s what she needed. He always knows.

Her insides flutter. She catches sight of a future where the timing of babies isn’t an issue. It’s going to be wonderful.

‘Right now, I want the Olympics more, much, much more than a baby. I’ll be honest, I’m nineteen and a half out of ten on the freaking-out scale’. 

He winks while rubbing his thumbs on her cheekbones. 

‘Me too,’ she smiles this time, another tear escaping her eye. This time it’s a tear of relief.

*

Neither of them sleep on the plane. He’s hyper-aware of Tess’ fidgeting. It’s driving him crazy but now is not the time. 

It seems like every second movie in the entertainment system involves a bloody pregnancy or kids. Fuck.

They mostly sit in silence but he knows she’s undertaking an unspoken stocktake of disaster plans and crisis management issues. Just as he is. It’s torturous.

The consequences of an accidental pregnancy run the gamut from who they would have to tell and when, if and how they could change their programs and when and how they manage the public facing narrative. 

As the plane touches down in Montreal he turns to Tess.

‘You wanna know who I’d be most apprehensive to tell?’ he grimaces. He’s been thinking about it solidly for the last four hours. Playing it in his head. Over and over. 

‘I know the answer to that one’ she responds pushing her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout, ‘Marie-France and Patch. Right?’

‘Absol-fucking-utely’ he exhales.

*

Thank God, the groceries are delivered five minutes after they walk through Tess’ front door. 

He needs to know what’s gonna happen to his career. Wait, of course he means their career. As soon as possible please. Which of the six million grocery bags contain these bloody tests? Everything is moving in slow motion.

Except Tess.

‘Forget putting the cold stuff in the fridge, crack open those tests and meet me in my bathroom,’ she instructs racing past him to the ensuite.

He finally grabs the box of tests tearing off the packaging, letting it drop to the floor as he jogs through the apartment. He’ll collect the rubbish off the floor later.

He arrives in the bathroom, Tess has stripped off the clothes she was travelling in and is standing in her underwear. Righto.

‘OK, any last words before we do this?’ he asks. 

She gets straight to the point.

‘Yep, I love you. A lot. We both want this to be negative but either way we’re gonna be fine’, she nods. 

‘I love you too. And I agree. We desperately want Pyeongchang but a baby is an acceptable consolation prize. I vote for a little girl and I wanna call her Ashlynn’ he nods back.

She laughs and gives a drop-dead gorgeous, genuine smile. Fuck, she’s amazing. He feels an overwhelming love for her and can’t help but sweep her up and kiss her senseless. She melts into him, matching his enthusiasm, running her hands through his hair while he palms her ass and bites her lips.

‘Hey now,’ she says when she pulls away ‘it’s that kinda roguish behaviour that landed us in this mess, Moir’.

‘Just wee on the sticks, Virtch’ he instructs.

*

Three life changing minutes pass.

*

‘It’s only you and I and Olympic gold’ she squeals in excitement.

‘For now’ Scott grins, sweeping her up again and twirling them around.

The relief.

It’s indescribable.

Thank fuck.

*

His fingers are inside her as she arches her back off the bed. Feels. So. Good.

‘The irony is not lost on me, we’re about to celebrate not having a baby by copulating,’ he grunts.

‘I love it when you talk dirty to me by using the anatomically correct term for fucking’ she moans.

He laughs, ‘I aim to please’.

‘Well, please stop talking. There’s much better ways to use your mouth,’ she sighs, guiding his head to between her legs.

*

‘Why, why are you so terrible today?’ cries Marie France, vigorously clapping her hands to get their attention.

They are terrible today. He thinks that’s a fair call. But he doesn’t really care. He’s still on a ‘Tess isn’t pregnant’ high.

‘This is not the Virtue Moir we train, non? You’re wasting our time. What has happened?’ Patch gruffly adds, skating to stand next to his wife. 

Tess looks to him and shrugs. They have a silent conversation and decide to tell the truth. They skate over to their coaches. Madi and Zach are at the other end of the rink practicing their spins, this isn’t something they want broadcast by Zach’s loose lips.

‘We’re rubbish because we are terribly hung over,’ Tess beams. He nods his agreement.

‘I do not understand. Why is this a good thing?’ Marie France enquires, hands on hips, giving a frustrated glance to Patch.

‘We were celebrating last night,’ he joyfully scoops Marie France into his arms and spins his coach in a bridal hold. 

She squeals, ‘Non, non, non Scott, put me down’.

‘Celebrating last night, with a bottle of Tequila that I am not pregnant and we’re still going to Pyeongchang,’ laughs Tess.

‘Oh my,’ is all Marie France says in response. 

A penny dropping moment, the significance of which is shared by all four of them.

‘Baise moi. Only one bottle of Tequila?’ asks Patch, shaking his head. ‘Sounds like you have been very lucky, my friends’.

‘One bottle doesn’t seem nearly enough,’ Marie France adds with a wink. He wiggles his eyebrows in agreement. 

‘OK, for today you are dismissed. Go home and sleep it off,’ Patch instructs as he claps him on the back in congratulations. He grabs Tess’ hand and moves towards the boards. 

‘Separately!’ yells Marie France.

*

**Author's Note:**

> xoxo


End file.
